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Sometimes Love is Twisted

It was cold outside. The kind of cold that makes your nose quit working. The kind of cold that makes icicles on your eyelashes. The kind of cold that humans were never designed for. And yet she stands there in the snow, naked as the day she was born, and cries. The funny thing is, that it was normal fight until I called her crazy. Now I am forcing myself to stand outside with her. Her beauty is only clouded by the misty phantoms that rise with every breath.

I tell her to come inside but she wants an apology. I tell that I’m sorry it’s so cold and ask if she’ll come in now. As with every sarcastic remark in the last 10 minutes, it was quickly followed by a snowball to the face. I could of moved but what’s the point? At least it isn’t knives, right?

She starts to disappear because the blue of her skin matches that of the sky and run out to her. She threatens to scream, but I beat her to the punch.

I yell out, "my crazy girlfriend thinks I’ll be embarrassed by her screaming on the lawn in the middle of winter."

She cowers and falls to the snow, sobbing. I pick her up and bring her inside. I set the shivering ball down next to the heating grate.

As I wrap a blanket gently around her, I start to hum her favorite song. You could feel the energy of her anger leave the room, with every bar of music.

She’s not bad or crazy. She’s sorry. She’s sorry for the pain others made her believe was her own. She’s sorry for the bitter words she always tosses at the sunshine. She’s sorry that love burns her skin like acid. She's sorry I had to see this.